Cliche
by Lily Sregdor
Summary: Set after S3 Finale. Sherlock takes Molly to a safe house and things are said and feelings are felt. Terrible summary. Spoilers for S3 of Sherlock. So far this is only a ONE SHOT.


Cliche

By Lily Sregdor

I do not own Sherlock or Molly Hooper.

This story takes place after the finale of S3. Warning for SPOILERS for S3.

_I'm not a psychopath I'm a high-functioning sociopath! Merry Christmas!_

Sherlock Holmes bolted straight up. Darkness meeting his eyes. His hands reached out to grab at something, anything at all. He was breathing heavily, covered lightly in sweat. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and felt around for the edge of the sheet with the other. As he left the bed he briefly felt feminine fingertips brush his bare back. Sherlock stumbled to the bathroom and flicked on the light. He grimaced at his own reflection. He looked terrible. The dream had certainly taken it's toll on him. He needed a shave. He looked like Hell.

But Sherlock Holmes didn't just look like Hell… he felt like the dream had taken him to Hell and back. He took a deep breath and turned on the water and splashed the cold water on his face. He had to do something. Anything to take his mind off the nightmare. Sherlock began shaving but he couldn't stop thinking. He knew it was impossible to stop thinking. He groaned whenever he heard John or Mary or Lestrade say "just stop thinking so much". But he couldn't; no one could _really _stop thinking. Even when you were trying to think of nothing to think of you were still _thinking_.

Sherlock finished his shave and thought back to his nightmare. Magnussen looking so proud, so smug so… slick, those dead eyes of his (now very much indeed dead) glaring at him. Like a parasite slithering around in your gut and infecting everything it came into contact with. Sherlock, in the moment, pulling the trigger, had not felt bad about what he was about to do. It wasn't until he saw the look on John's face and the look, he could imagine, Mycroft's face, after he pulled the trigger. Sherlock knew many people wanted to do what Sherlock had done but would they have actually gone through with it as he had?

The consulting detective knew what he said wasn't true. As much as he wanted to be, as hard as he strived, as cold and distant as he determined himself to be… he was not a sociopath. Sherlock knew that deep down he was an extremely emotional man. But it was through his own methods that he had chosen to bury such feelings. Until a certain Army doctor came along and befriended him. Then all of the little pieces that Sherlock hadn't even realized were missing from his life began falling into place. And that is what had lead him to the event that had taken place two nights ago.

Sherlock had gotten the call, quite surprisingly, from his brother four minutes after takeoff. He thought Mycroft was calling to taunt him. But no. It was something much worse than Mycroft's taunting and teasing. And that is what lead Sherlock first- not to the lab, not to Baker Street, not to his parents… but to the flat of one Molly Hooper. His first thought, besides making sure John and Mary were safe, which even pregnant Sherlock knew Mary could handle herself and protect John- was to make sure Molly was safe.

Sherlock couldn't exactly put his finger on why he wanted to make sure she was safe at the time. Yes, they were slowly becoming friends. Yes, his feelings towards her changed and were beginning to morph into something… more?

When Sherlock swooped into Molly's flat, Mycroft's men at his heels, it wasn't the kind of romantic gesture people write about. Not some boring cliche women dream about. No. First of all, Mycroft's men were informed to make sure Molly had no idea where they were taking both she and Sherlock. They couldn't go back to Baker Street right away. Mrs. Hudson had been taken somewhere safe immediately. So, when Sherlock came in, men in black suits at his back, he found Molly sitting on her sofa trying to eat her dinner in her surprisingly plain pajamas. Molly was about to ask a question, something along the lines of "what the hell" or "Sherlock are you high again?" but before she could Sherlock picked her up and one of Mycroft's men put a cotton bag over her head.

Of course Molly struggled but Sherlock explained that she couldn't know where they were taking her but all would be divulged immediately after their arrival at the safe house. He knew Molly had seen Moriarty appear on t.v, who could have missed it?

After arriving at the safe house Sherlock apologized for the black bag. Molly was understandably pissed off.

"You could have called first you know," Molly said, bringing her knees up to her chest as she sat on the well made bed in the safe house in only god knows where. Sherlock didn't like seeing her uncomfortable. Before he would have delighted to watch her squirm under his scrutiny but now he found it almost painful that she should feel uncomfortable around him.

"You're still mad about the drugs then?" Sherlock said standing in the doorway, still wearing his trade mark coat hands clasped in front of him. Molly sighed deeply. "Sherlock… this isn't just about the drugs thing, which was more than a thing- it's a very serious _thing_." Molly said, she looked down, apparently angry she was getting so upset. He took her somewhere safe after all and she was being ungrateful. Sherlock took a hesitant and slow step towards her.

"Molly," he began. "You have to believe it was only for a case. I'm sorry for the rude things I said to you." Molly looked up at him and held his gaze. Sherlock couldn't read her. It was the first time he couldn't read _her_. Molly was usually so easy to read but now he couldn't. Maybe he didn't want to read her… maybe he wanted something about her to surprise him for once. Sherlock's mind was racing. He didn't know what to do. He was afraid he'd say the wrong thing- wait? Sherlock Holmes afraid? Of telling a person the truth? But Sherlock couldn't figure out what the truth was.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked. Sherlock deduced he must have been standing there staring like a idiot for some time. "Sit down." she said quietly. Sherlock moved to sit down on the bed but for some reason thought to close to the door, Mycroft's men were still in the safe house. Why did he want privacy? What was he expecting to happen with Molly? No one was expecting anything to happen but at some point… nothing turned into something.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence. He still in his coat and she still in her pajamas. They hadn't even let her put on shoes. Sherlock reached out to touch her cold feet and began massaging them, trying to warm them up. Molly sighed and scooted closer to Sherlock. Sherlock's hands slowly slid up her calf. Sherlock didn't know why but he actually wanted to touch her. It was like those two times before when he'd kiss her on the cheek at Christmas and again after his return. Both of those times he didn't know why he wanted to kiss her but he did.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they were leaning closer to each other. It was a very intimate moment but there was nothing sexual hanging in the air. It was a meeting of the minds. An intimate silent expression of longing, gratitude, hope, despair, belonging and peace. Sherlock forgot about Moriarty and Magnussen. He forgot about Mycroft. All he could focus on was Molly's face as his eyelids began to feel heavier but not for lack of sleep. It was something else… something deeper. Something that was making him feel alive and a bit… primal.

They were still leaning closer. Molly's eyes had closed. Their foreheads were pressed against one another. Sherlock only wanted to keep her close.

"Sherlock-" "Shut up." he said quickly. He felt her eyes open and he immediately regretted his words. "No… no I mean… just…" he trailed off as he raised his hands and touched her arms. "Just… don't move." he whispered. She closed her eyes again and Sherlock breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He thought for a moment he had ruined it completely.

"Molly… I don't know what's happening," he began. He felt her breath quicken. "but I do know that I don't want you to be anywhere that isn't near me."

He briefly cracked his eyes open to see her bite her bottom lip. Sherlock felt his body beginning to respond to the sight of her biting her lip. Why? Sherlock didn't understand. Sherlock wasn't completely naive when it came to sex but he wasn't completely experienced either.

Sherlock pressed his forehead against hers more. He felt Molly's hands moving up his arms. Her hands reached his scarf and suddenly she pulled it off his neck, the action made a soft whipping sound in the silent room. Sherlock pulled her hair tie out of her hair. Molly bit her lip again. Now the room was beginning to take on a sexual air to it. Molly unbuttoned two more buttons on his blue shirt. Sherlock smirked.

"You've got nothing to unbutton." he whispered against her lips, playing with the worn material of her t-shirt, there was a faded image of some sort of a samurai on it. Molly smiled shyly. "Then I'll just have to keep going." she responded. Molly's hands, a little shaky, continued unbuttoning his buttons.

Sherlock's breathing was heavier now and so was Molly's. More of his skin was being revealed but she suddenly stopped at the fifth button. Sherlock couldn't deny he was disappointed. Not that he couldn't undress himself. But honestly, he didn't know where this was going. Did Molly have an idea? He thought about asking; thinking of the different ways to go about asking her was proving to be a challenge. He didn't want to sound insulting, or suggestive if her motives proved to be something other than sexual, which he was sure weren't innocent. He also didn't want to sound clinical.

"Sherlock… do you want me?" Molly asked him. Their foreheads were no longer pressed together but they were still sitting very close. Her palms lay flat against his chest, his hands cupping her small shoulders. "I-" Sherlock paused. _Be nice. _He heard John's voice in his head. _Attentive. _Sherlock groaned. Even in a private intimate moment such as this he could hear John's voice. He always did keep him right, even in the lady department.

"Molly," Sherlock began. "I've never really wanted anyone. I've wanted, quietly and in my own way, to keep people in my life. Like John, and you, and Mary and… Mrs. Hudson, possibly. But in the way I think you are referring to… I think… yes. I do want you Molly Hooper." Sherlock finally said, he said it like a confession, like he had been holding it in for years and didn't realize he wanted to say it until just now. And he looked her in the eyes when he said. Sherlock felt exposed suddenly. He felt vulnerable. But even feeling this sense of exposure it felt right feeling it in front of Molly. Did John feel this type of intimacy with Mary? Is this what feeling comfortable with the right person was supposed to feel like?

Sherlock felt Molly's hand on his cheek, one hand still on chest but over his heart. Sherlock thought if he was looking at a different couple doing this he would think it would be very cliche. But now that he was experiencing it for himself it didn't seem so cliche. "Sherlock," Molly said quietly. "I don't want to be an experiment of yours." she said seriously. Sherlock shook his head.

"No. Never." he said quickly and just as seriously. Sherlock couldn't believe what he was saying. He couldn't believe how he sounded. He sounded like a desperate kitten begging for attention.

"To hell with it." Sherlock mumbled before pressing his lips to hers. There was no tongue. There was nothing sloppy about it. He just pressed his lips to hers. But there was something incredibly passionate in the simplicity of his kiss. He felt her exhale through her nose as he held his lips against hers. He slowly pulled back. "You didn't like it?" he asked quickly when she both didn't kiss him back and didn't say anything afterwards. She shook her head.

"No… no. It was nice. It- I just wasn't expecting it." Molly said smiling shyly again, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of red. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief.

"Molly, minutes ago you were planning on unbuttoning my shirt but you didn't expect me to kiss you?" Sherlock asked with a smile on his lips. Molly shrugged. "I'm weird like that." she said. Sherlock leaned in again and this time she did kiss him back. This kiss was more experimental (not in the way she feared though) for both of them. A little tongue here and there, some quiet gasps from both of them. She raised her hands back to his shirt and continued unbuttoning it. Sherlock pushed off his heavy coat and leaned into her more placing small kisses on her neck. Molly leaned back onto the bed and spread her hands across his naked chest. He was definitely the most muscular she'd ever seen him.

Molly wondered for a brief moment if he'd taken up exorcising while he was away for two years.

Soon Sherlock was laying between Molly's legs. Their kisses had turned into something more. It was like they couldn't bare parting from each other. Sherlock became addicted to the taste and feel of Molly's mouth. To the sounds she was making. Sherlock pressed himself harder against her, letting her feel his arousal. Molly moaned and slid her hands lower. Sherlock briefly thought about stopping her wandering hands but… wasn't this what he wanted? Yes, he decided. He did want it. He wanted it completely. He felt consumed by it… yes another cliche. But suddenly all of the cliches made sense. There were cliches for a reason, he decided. This whole scene was a cliche. The feelings, the thoughts, the tastes… but it all felt completely and totally right.

When they finally did consummate whatever their relationship was it wasn't terribly long but it wasn't horribly short either. Molly finished before they started, Sherlock made sure of that. He noted the look of surprise in her eyes when he told her to keep looking at him while he made her come. It was the third most intimate part of the evening. She let herself be completely open with him in that moment. And when Sherlock began moving in her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her worn t-shirt riding up over her small but lovely breasts, he let himself be completely open to her. She gripped his forearms and he locked eyes with her as he came inside of her. Neither of them had even thought to find a condom. Sherlock didn't care though. In their shared euphoria neither could find it in themselves to care.

Sherlock had never felt so careless in his life. It felt… good. But as he lay there holding her, now under the covers, he felt his old cold, clinical and deducing self coming back to life fighting for survival. His logical side was screaming at him; throwing all kinds of insults and reasons why he shouldn't have done what he did. Sherlock ignored that little asshole. For once in his adult life, he let himself be completely and totally intimate with another person. And the world didn't end.

That was two days ago. That same night with Molly by his side his nightmare of killing Magnussen returned. Sometimes Moriarty would be there telling Sherlock to pull the trigger, to "pop Magnussen off", as dream Moriarty put it. Sherlock knew he couldn't ignore the danger of having Moriarty back forever. This little reprieve of sleeping side by side with Molly and being at peace would have to come to an end.

"Sherlock?" he heard Molly's sleepy voice coming from behind him in the bedroom. He turned and shut off the bathroom light and climbed back into bed with her. He glanced at the clock. "How much time?" she asked him. It was two thirty in the morning. Sherlock spooned her. "Not enough." he whispered into her hair. Molly cried that night. He held her. He didn't say anything as he held her and stroked her hair, he just let her cry. "Will you be gone in the morning?" Molly whispered when the tears had subsided. Sherlock nodded his head. He heard sniffle. Please don't cry anymore, Sherlock thought. Not because it was annoying him- okay, it was a little annoying- but more than that he didn't want to hear her crying because the more she did the more he wanted to throw caution to the wind and run away from everything and just be with her.

For a brief moment in time Sherlock day dreamed about escaping to a small town somewhere in the world where he and Molly could be together. Maybe a smaller version of himself would come along one day. Sherlock never liked children but he thought maybe he could like a child that came from him and Molly. He quickly dismissed that thought though. He had to be realistic. He barely outwitted Moriarty last time. Molly had helped keep him alive. John had kept him going. Mycroft had helped him escape. Mary and her baby were also reasons he had to stay. He killed a man for Mary and he'd kill anyone who tried to hurt John Watson and Mary Watson's child.

Sherlock knew he was human because of the guilt he felt for killing Magnussen. He knew Magnussen was one less evil in the world but he couldn't deny that taking a life for him was quite traumatic. He knew he'd be feeling the guilt for years. Maybe his entire life. That's what being a human being with real feelings was like. But Sherlock thought maybe he could survive it all with Molly by his side.

Molly pushed herself back against him, they couldn't get close enough. Sherlock felt himself responding to her movement. She could feel it too. "Sherlock… I want you to know," she paused as he began kissing her neck. He knew what she was going to say. He didn't just deduce it, he felt it in his bones. His very being. Sherlock didn't believe in souls but if he did he knew he'd feel it there too. He felt what she was going to say in his mind. His most powerful weapon was being crippled by this simple, sweet woman.

Sherlock rolled her over and kissed her like he was never going to kiss her again. Perhaps he wouldn't. Molly wrapped her arms around him as they removed whatever material barriers separated them. "Sherlock… I-" he kissed her again. He wanted to hear her say it more than anything but at the same time the idea terrified him completely. He'd rather face Moriarty and Magnussen in a thousand lifetimes than hear her say those words but couldn't live the rest of his life without hearing them.

As their coupling increased strongly his resolve to stop her from saying those words crumbled. "I love you." she whispered against his lips. The words had a striking affect on Sherlock and he found himself reaching completion sooner than expected just from hearing her say them. She reached up and kissed him sweetly. Afterwards he laid his head on her bare chest as she stroked his hair and down his scarred back. "I know you can't say it," she began quietly. "I know you don't really believe in love… but I wanted you to know. I don't care if you don't say it back." Sherlock looked up at her. She stroked his cheek. "But I wanted you to know, Sherlock Holmes, that I have loved you and I will always love you." Sherlock reached up and kissed her forehead and cupped her face in his hands. He felt tears forming in his eyes.

"Say it again… please." he whispered.

Molly smiled sadly. "I love you. I think I was always supposed to you love." She whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. Sherlock looked into her eyes. "Molly… I… I-" she put her hand over his mouth. "No. Don't. I know you can't." she said, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "Don't wake me up when you go. And don't promise you'll come back. But just know that I'll wait for you, Sherlock. I'll always wait for you. You've earned it." Molly said, Sherlock reached up and brushed away her tears.

When Sherlock did get up he didn't wake her. He didn't say goodbye. He respected her wishes. He stood over her and went to brush the hair away from her eyes but stilled his hand. Sherlock wrote a quick note, left it on the bedside table and was escorted out of the safe house by one of Mycroft's men while others stayed behind to watch over Molly. As Sherlock walked down the steps he turned to a man named Smith who was going to be in charge of Molly's safety. "I don't have to tell you that that woman is very important to me." Sherlock said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I understand Mr. Holmes, we'll take good care of your girlfriend." Smith responded. Sherlock shrugged at Smith. "She's not my girlfriend." he said coldly as he got into the car, Mycroft was in the car with John and Mary. The car pulled away.

"How was your weekend?" John asked after a few minutes silence.

Sherlock shrugged. "Molly told me she loved me." Sherlock said flipping through his phone. Mary laughed and Mycroft shot him a glare. "Oh do relax. I didn't say it back." Sherlock said not even looking up.

"Sherlock!" John said angrily. "What did you say?" Mary asked. Sherlock shrugged. "Don't tell me you shrugged." John said crossing his arms over his chest. Mary rolled her eyes looking out the window. "I did not shrug. I left a note." Sherlock said pocketing his phone. John scoffed and leaned back. "Hope it was better than Shakespeare." John muttered.

Sherlock stared out the window, coyly smiling.

_No, she isn't my girlfriend. She's the woman I love. And that means more than the label of "girlfriend" for Sherlock Holmes. _He thought as the car drove down the road.

Molly sat in the shower crying all morning until the warm water ran cold. When she finally found the strength to return to the bedroom she found the note on the bedside table. With shaking fingers she opened the note and gasped and put a hand over her mouth.

_"You have my heart. You have my mind. You have my everything. You said I cannot say the words and you are right. But I can write them, my hands aren't broken. Molly Hooper… I love you._

_SH._

_Ps. You've turned me into a cliche. I hope you're very happy with yourself."_

Molly closed her eyes and held the note to her chest. She found the strength eat and get dressed. Through his note she found the strength to keep going. She would always keep going. For him she would never stop living.

(AN: This is my first Sherlolly fan fic. Please be gentle but constructive. Reviews are always welcome. Sweet dreams! Sleep tight and don't let the demons bite… unless you're into that sort of thing.)


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